


Not with a bang

by spicyobsession



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Friendship, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyobsession/pseuds/spicyobsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liara helps a drunk Shepard back to her cabin and fails admirably at playing therapist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not with a bang

lIt’s one of those nights.

Even without all that armor, Shepard is a surprisingly heavy woman to carry; or rather, half-drag across the CIC to the elevator where, once inside, Liara mashes the button for the commander’s cabin. Back against the wall, she takes a few deep breaths, relieved that everyone had already appeared to retire to the crew deck for the evening. Shepard’s clunky boots were making a terrible racket on the floor, and the last thing she wanted was to have Joker hobble out of the cockpit to find their CO like this. 

Shepard slides further down Liara’s shoulder until she hauls her up again. “We’re almost to your room,” she promises.

“Great,” she manages slowly, drawing out the word over two syllables. With her head tilted back, the elevator light exposes an angular face framed by curly, dark hair that seems to float. Shepard never wears her hair down; as it is, she looks unrecognizable. 

The door slides open. “Come on,” Liara says, helping her out. Cabin air whooshes at them, the breeze cool and slightly dry.

“I think I can take it from here,” Shepard announces, pulls away from the asari, and promptly stumbles into the aquarium. 

The sight should be funny, but Liara doesn’t laugh. Propping her up against yet another wall, she begins to unbutton the top collar of her commander’s uniform. The other woman peers at her from under heavy-lidded eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Are you trying to undress me?”

Her fingers slip at the loaded question. Three years ago, she would have stammered and thrown herself out the airlock before even considering handling Shepard like this. Now, after learning how to bury her shyness (and her secrets), Liara merely resumes the task at hand, responding with a subdued smile of her own. “I’m only removing your shirt. You’re sweating.”

“Look at you, taking care of me.”

“I found you knocked out cold on Aria’s booth in Purgatory. The bartender told me how many shots you had.” She shakes her head. “It isn’t like you to get this drunk.”

At least Shepard has the grace to look sheepish. “It was only going to be a few drinks. Guess I lost count.”

“A good thing I found you then.” She stalls at the last button, sneaking peeks at the slivers of brown skin the open shirt has revealed. When she looks back up, Shepard’s staring right at her. Liara swallows. Belatedly, she realizes that three years isn’t that long at all for an asari. 

“I got this,” her CO says easily and shrugs off the garment in a single, careless movement. She’s wearing a black tank top underneath, which Liara decides to leave alone. A gentle push sends Shepard arcing through the air and onto the bed with a soft thump. Kneeling down, she makes quick work of Shepard’s boots and sets them carefully to the side. Above her, the other woman sighs and murmurs liquor-dulled nothings. 

Liara gets to her feet and pauses at the image of the commander lying flushed and vulnerable on the bed. Soon enough, a familiar tightness begins to wind its way through her chest and up her throat. She blinks rapidly, allowing herself to pat the empty space beside Shepard’s body. “Get some sleep.”

She moves away, but doesn’t get very far before Shepard snatches her wrist, the touch instantly turning tentative once Liara stills, her breath quite stolen. “Wait. Please.”

“Yes, Shepard?” The asari is proud of how calm she sounds.

Shepard’s jaw clenches and unclenches. “Thane passed away today.”

Ah. This explains their current situation. Seconds drag before Liara simply replies, “I heard.”

“His son was there.” She hasn’t let go of her hand. “I was too. I listened to Kolyat give him his last rites.”

Steeling herself, she sits down on the edge of the bed. “It was a quiet, dignified death.”

“He died,” Shepard continues as if uninterrupted, “knowing what was waiting for him on the other side. No regrets. No doubts.”

Liara settles in more comfortably, ignoring her internal alarm going off, the one that screams at her to get out now while she still can. “And what about you?”

“Me?” Strange, how a single word can sound so naked and open. 

The asari says nothing in return, knowing Shepard had heard her the first time. 

She moves on her side, blocking her face from view. The light hum from the aquarium VI’s routine feeding is comforting background noise that fills in the otherwise cavernous silence. Liara’s crest aches from thinking. She wants to wring her hands or touch Shepard’s hair or run away or none of the above, and it’s all so confusing inside her head. Thankfully, Shepard has an answer. “I’ve never had Thane’s certainty.”

Liara strokes Shepard’s forehead, tufts of curls tickling her fingertips as her resolve breaks. It always does, around her. Keeping her voice low, she asks, “Is that what you want? An afterlife for when this war finally ends?”

Shepard responds to the gesture by shifting closer to the asari. Liara fails to ignore that too. As for the question, she makes a tired, muted sound. “For all the lives the Reapers have taken? Yes.”

“That’s not what I asked. Are you searching for something beyond this lifetime? Are you looking for your own absolution?” 

“Are you seriously asking me this when I’m drunk?” 

She spares another smile. “As I recall, you were the one who started this conversation.”

“Doesn’t mean it was a good idea.” 

“It’s generally what you’re full of, though,” Liara banters back, relieved that the exchange has migrated to safer waters.

The feeling arrives too soon, however. She has to lean down, closer than she’s ever dared, to hear the commander’s next words that come out in a hoarse whisper, “What happens when I run out? Everyone’s looking at me like I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s not true,” Liara immediately protests, a gut reaction to the woman she has always watched from both afar and up close, but forever just out of reach. The smells from the bar still linger on her clothes and hair, but beneath the skin, she senses her commander slowly but surely sobering up. 

“I’ve been fighting them for so long that they’re all I can think about. They’re all I know now. I don’t…” Shepard stops, turning to face her, “I don’t think there’s an ‘after’ waiting for me when this is all over.”

Her throat squeezes itself. “Why do you say that?” Which ‘after’? The one where she has the fortune to stay her friend or the one where Thane and Mordin have found their peace? She keeps stroking her hair, the one tangible reminder that this is real and not one of her more vivid dreams.

“Some days I know why I hold a gun.” Shepard’s eyes are red-rimmed, but dry and desperately clear. “Garrus. Joker. Anderson. You.” Her heart skips a beat. “And on others, I’m not as sure because I suspect that I only keep fighting to avoid dealing with my own demons.”

Liara has never wanted to cry more than at this moment. She doesn’t. Instead, with the aquarium fish and space hamster as the sole witnesses, she cradles Shepard’s head in her lap, crooning words too hushed for her commander’s ears. The two women sit like this for a while, listening to each other’s heartbeats, stealing whatever quiet moments they can. If she could stay like this forever, she would. If she could memorize the feel of Shepard warm and solid in her arms, she would. If she could tell her commander and her friend anything in the galaxy, she would.

She’s seen Shepard through Saren and the geth, defeated the Shadow Broker and rescued Feron with her help, and now watches over her still-drunk form, the warmth from the commander’s head seeping through her legs. Liara bites her lip. She wasn’t on the Normandy for the Omega-4 Relay, though. There’s an entire chapter of Shepard’s life she will never be privy to—perhaps the most crucial one. After all, had she not recovered Shepard’s body for Cerberus none of this would have happened. Perhaps they would all have been a ruined memory by now, and the asari doesn’t know which is worse: dooming her friend to bouts of existential angst while tasked with saving the galaxy or knowing that there was no other alternative.

Her fingers curl over Shepard’s hair, lightly scratching the scalp. It was either this woman or no one at all, but listening to her uneven breathing and bleary mumbling lends little credence or comfort to what Liara tells herself every day. 

With a start, she realizes she has been silent for some time since Shepard’s comment and steels herself. “You can’t lose yourself to the darkness,” she begins. “I won’t let you, and neither will any of your crew.”

“What if it’s too late?”

“It isn’t.”

“What if I’m just an extremely high-tech VI who think she’s Shepard? What if,” words rushing, “what if the real me is still lying on that damn operating table, waiting for someone to reactivate—“

“Then I’ll drag you back myself," she says fiercely, “we—I. I can’t lose you again,” her voice cracking on the last word.

Shepard stiffens; Liara blushes. How did this night suddenly become all about her? Liara’s not the one who’s drunk so what’s fueling this confession? There’s no way she can spin this, she’s still holding Shepard, and Goddess, didn’t she leave behind the awkward fumbling and social ineptitude back in uni? Her palms itch, and she starts to panic when the other woman sits up unsteadily and looks at her again, hair falling over her eyes. 

Liara closes hers. “It’s true. You’re the only thing holding this crew, this galaxy, together.” She grips the side of the bed. “And there is no doubt in my mind that you’re real. I knew it as soon as I touched you.” 

It’s gotten too quiet again so she continues babbling. “No one could do what you’ve accomplished, Shepard. You’re one of a kind, and you will get through this because you’re not alone in the fight. You…Goddess…” It can’t be helped. Liara flounders, overwhelmed and unsure of where to start with comforting Shepard, because there is too much ground to cover, too many skeletons in the closet, too many suppressed issues for even the most persistent archeologist to unearth—and not enough time.

Instead, she shakes her head, at a total loss for words. What a terrible friend she makes. 

Shepard watches Liara without blinking, gives a sad little laugh, and puts her hand on the asari’s shoulder. “I guess this will have to wait then.” The smile on her face is devastating. “I’ve got too many people depending on me.”

Her eyes fly open. “Shepard,” Liara says helplessly. “If you ever need someone to talk to…”

“Likewise,” she replies easily, each of her fingers a searing pinprick on Liara’s skin. “And you worry too much. This helped, really.” 

At the skeptical expression on Liara’s face, she chuckles. “Go to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

Shepard falls back on the covers as Liara stands up, taking slow steps backwards. “Okay,” she says softly. 

“Okay,” her commander echoes.

“Sleep well,” Liara says as the door opens.

“You do the same,” Shepard replies as the door slides closed.

For the longest moment afterward, the asari leans against the entrance, hands braced on either side, listening for any sound coming through the wall before she pushes herself off and steps into the elevator.

What a terrible friend she makes.


End file.
